A Chuisle Mo Chroí
by xx Twi
Summary: I guessed this, I knew this was his fate..and my own. I was practically the grim reaper, after all. Why hadn't he listen to me? Why hadn't he learned that I was a monster? Doomed to ruin his life, doomed to ruin anyone's life who got close to me.
1. Prologue

ooc:; hey guys. yup, i'm back. if you haven't read this yet, be happy. i was gone for about a year in "remission," so the story is somewhat under construction right now. it'll come out a lot faster, and this time i won't quit on you guys, i swear. D

this story is in totally invalid because of what you find out about jasper&alice in eclipse. but, if that never happened, and jasper&alice weren't together in that _sense, _this is what(or i would like to think) what would happen. so, shhh! if you don't say anything and don't think about it, no one will notice! bear with me please, this is going to be about a paragraph long. it's a prologue! yay.

disclaimer'd: i do not own the now uber mega popular stephenie meyer. i don't own her writing, her book, her ideas, or any bodily fluids inside of her. the only thing i do claim to own is my ideas and my characters.

and... it starts!

A scream ran through my body as my face went white.

_"No, that's impossible.."_

The darkness engulfed his silhouette, the only reminiscence of him that kept me sane.

Silently awaiting death.

_The death that was suppose to be for me._

I guessed this, I_ knew _this was his fate..and my own. I was practically the grim reaper, after all. Why hadn't he listen to me? Why hadn't he learned that I was a monster? Doomed to ruin his life, doomed to ruin anyone's life who got close to me. I told him not to touch me, to get attached..It would end badly.

Worse than I thought.

Another shriek ran through my body as a clawed desperately at the door.


	2. Morass

ooc:; hello, hello. I think I'm going to start a contest.

it'll go something like this..

I'll hide some kind of lyrics or pop-culture mega geek reference in one of the chapters, and whoever spots it first gets a character named after them. the character won't have a big part in the story, but it'll be big enough to notice.

but, of course this hasn't started yet, since this is the first chapter and all.

_Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Or New Moon. Or Stephanie Meyer. Slavery is against the law, anyway, so I obviously don't own Stephanie Meyer. The only things that I do own is my story and Ellie. And her siblings. _

_"A glooming peace this morning with it brings._

_The sun for sorrow will not show it's head._

_Go hence, to have more talk of these said things;_

_Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;_

_For never was a story of more woe_

_Than this of Juliet and her Romeo."_

_- Romeo and Juliet_

_Act V_

_Scene 3_

I didn't mind leaving. Actually, the idea of going to the states for a year, a new life, a clean slate, sounded refreshing. A tiny, almost non-existent town called Forks decided to take a chance and invest in a Student Exchange program. I switch places with some kid, we live there for a year, and then I come back with new..."experiences." Some girl named Jessica Stantley.

It was just the fact that there would be a new person being in my house with my family for a year that nauseated me. I didn't have a big family, just my older sister and brother.

Both of my parents are dead. But I don't really want to go into that.

If my family didn't have one...particular problem, I'd be totally and utterly fine with it.

The reason behind my madness was we weren't what you would call_..."human."_

To get straight to the point, we were something that was only believed long ago in the old Irish myths and legends.

_We were banshees._

I wasn't abnormal. I fit quite fine with the humans. That's what we were meant to do..blend in.

But, there were a few things that made us stand out.

Banshees are a type of fairy, but not the small, pixie-like kind. Old folklore says that banshees are female, either a young women or an old hag. They had long, beautiful hair that was brushed by a silver comb. A popular superstition in Ireland is that if you see a silver comb on the ground, do not pick it up, for the banshee will come and steal the gullible human's soul. They were normally dressed in white or gray cloaks. In some cases, they were known as the "bean-nighe", Scottish Gaelic for washer-women, and is seen wearing the blood-stained clothes of those who were about to die. They were "assigned" to families bearing the last name O'Neills, O'Brady, O'Conner, O'Brady, and Kavanaugh. Since those are popular names in Ireland, that meant there were more banshees. The wailing was the death cry, a banshee mourning the soon-to-be dead kin.

In actuality, we aren't all women. You can't become a banshee, you're born a banshee. Some are true, but some have been changed from hearsay and many generations altering the story. Females usually do have long, beautiful hair. Cutting it is said to be bad luck. Banshees weren't "assigned" to families, they chose to become close to the family by becoming a good friend. It was just destiny. They foresaw the death, and were horrified, because they didn't want to lose them and could do nothing about it. Seeing the death isn't just watching it, you experience it. Every ounce of pain and anguish is felt firsthand. It's usually seen about week or so before the actual death, but sometimes the occurrence doesn't happen. After all, the future isn't stone-clad.

We were seen as immortal, but we could die. The only way to kill a Banshee is to rip them apart, limb by limb. Banshees aren't super fast or strong. We're adaptable. ..It's kind of hard to explain. It _is_ hard to kill a banshee, although I wouldn't imagine why anyone would want to. We were born as a baby, and stopped aging at around 17-24 in human years. We all had to have amazing singing voices...kind of a mix between a siren and a grim reaper. That's where the "singing at funerals" thing came from.

But, there's a whole other side to being a banshee that not many people know. The killing part. We like to call them Deathbringers.

Deathbringers are damned. If anyone touched the flesh of their hands, they die instantly. Like..

_A grim reaper._

And, occasionally, there are kinds of both Deathbringers and Deathseers, but we have only seen two cases of those types.

That's where I fit in. Doomed for both fates, of course. I always seemed to get the double-edged sword.

My brother, Conner, was a seer, and my sister, Cierra, a bringer.

Banshees are, though, very rare to find. You can't become a banshee, you're just..born one. Most live in Ireland or Scotland, since that's where their origins are, but some tire of that estate.

Though I wouldn't know, I've lived in Dublin my whole 112 years..I was considered 17.

"Eileen Demitria Adair, you get on that plane!" Sierra scolded, frowning slightly. "For the last time, we'll be fine! We're not going to eat the poor girl."

I grimaced. She rarely used my middle name. I guess all this stalling, explaining to you, my fellow reader, has gotten her a bit antsy.

Conner beamed at me. For some reason, getting Sierra cross at me seemed enjoyable to him.

I didn't think it was so funny.

"Get on that plane this instant! If you don't, I'll carry you on.." She fumed, and she went into her little rant that she sometimes gets looped into.

"Ya' better do it now, I think she's serious." His brogue, perfected with time, was thicker than both mine and Sierra's put together.

"Fine, fine. But if I hear any news on two people accidentally murdering a poor, innocent American girl..." I leered at them darkly. They both rolled their eyes. Connor stifled another cough-laugh.

Then, the flight attendant mentioned over the intercom that it was the last chances to board, so off I went.

As I turned to say goodbye, there was something I couldn't overlook..

They were gone. I didn't see them leave.

_"What a morass."_


	3. Starting Anew

_Ooc: Don't have much to say.. uhm.. Jack's Mannequin is amazing. So, on with the story._ D

_On with the disclaimer!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Shakespeare, New Moon, Stephanie Meyer, or any of it's contents. It would be weird if I owned Stephanie Meyer's contents...erm..I call dibs on her bladder._

_"But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, _

_Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel, _

_Making a famine where abundance lies, _

_Thyself thy foe, _

_to thy sweet self too cruel."_

_-William Shakespeare_

_Sonnet I_

A quick glimpse of what was once her body made me quiver in horror, deep down to my core. It was mangled, a gory show of what he could really do. The smell stung my nose and I had to fight the bile rising in my throat, but I tried to neglect the scent. Nathan was trembling, the knife he used still above the body. Blood developed like stalagmites at the end of it, dripping onto a crimson flesh-piece.

"Nathan! What have you done?!" I choked out, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"I...I...don't know.." He seemed just as horrified as I was. "I just lost control..I."

His dark, now crazed eyes narrowed towards me. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

"Nathan! Of course I'm going to tell! Are you crazy?" I already knew what he was going to say.

"Wrong answer."

He lumbered towards me, and plunged the blade deep into my chest.

My eyes flashed open. I was taking in gulps of air, my knuckles were white from strangling the poor arm rests. The passenger sitting next to me was very asleep, head against the carpeted wall and mouth hanging open.

"And to your left, you'll see the beautiful Hoh Rainforest, and to the right is Crescent Lake."

Oh! I was still on the plane, headed to Port Angeles, then Forks.

Someone was going to die, soon. I didn't know the person who would, and I never would. Sometimes the visions come randomly.

The plane landed, and I arrived to a woman holding a sign with the name, "Adair" on it. She was tall compared to me, for I was pretty short. She had wild curly brown hair that framed her face. It looked like her face was held together with some kind of putty that collected over the years and was about to fall off.

"Hello!" It looked like her enthusiasm could trample a cheerleader. "Are you Eileen?"

"Ellie, please. And yes." I tried to smile, but something bothered me about her.

"I'm Ashley Stanley. It's good to see you finally. Everyone's been so excited!"

Joy.

"That's good."

"Oh! You have the accent and everything!" She grinned. I grimaced. I expected them to stereotype me, but I didn't realize it to be this bad. I could already tell I wasn't going to get along with her.

"What's with the gloves? It's not winter here, yet.. Although it does get cold."

"Oh. I have a skin condition. If they're exposed to open air, they get red and burn." I smirked slightly. Ah, wishful thinking.

She led me to her car, which incidentally was a bright red convertible, and babbled on about who her daughter was, who to avoid, and loads more nonsense that I chose to tune out to the sound of wind whirring past my ears.

After about an hour of talking my ears off, we arrived at her house. It was a medium-sized house, the outside was painted a pastel blue with a flat black roof. The wooden fence in the backyard stood out, it was an uneasy shade of bright red.

"And here is your temporary car! It's Jessica's, so take care of it, okay?" I nodded weakly. It was a silver Kia Optima, battered and rammed to death. I'm not sure I could do anymore damage.

She fumbled with the keys as if she were doing a juggling act, and finally got the door to open.

"Here is the living room.."

That much was obvious. It was simple, a TV focused on the side with a blue couch and loveseat, a coffee table in the center. The carpet was a shade of tannish-gray.

"And here's the kitchen, my room, the bathrooms..And where you'll be staying! I'll give you time to unpack." She looked like she was in a hurry, not bothering to show me the other half of the house..but I shrugged it off.

The room was large, the walls painted with the same pastel blue as the house. The walls were lined with posters of American bands and celebrities I didn't recognize. There was a hot pink vanity by an oversized window. The black four-poster bed was in the corner by empty black drawers and a small TV on top. There was a door on the opposite wall, leading to the bathroom. Nothing in this room matched. I began to unpack, an uneasy feeling in my stomach for tomorrow.

-x-

"There's an alarm..?" I thought, feeling around for the turn-off button. It sounded like a cat that was dipped in acid and was tarred and feathered. I finally gave up and unplugged the damn thing, and stumbled off of the bed.

Yes, banshees sleep. Yes, banshees eat. How do you expect us to fit in? They were totally and completely unnecessary, mostly just habits. I walked to the bathroom. Everything was purple and butterfly themed. For God's sake, the toilet was violet and had a butterfly cosy over it.

I glanced in the wall mirror, and sighed. My hair was gray-brown, long and wild. It was in so much disarray, fixing it was futile. Pale hazel eyes stared back at me, expressionless.

After many wasted minutes of brushing, combing, more brushing, and then giving up and putting it into a ponytail, I was finally done with the bathroom.

I trudged to the dresser, and slipped on a deep blue blouse with a pair of complimentary jeans. Accompanying that was my green windbreaker, and my traditional black gloves so I wouldn't accidentally kill anyone.

I took a deep breath as I headed down the stairs.

"You just drive straight, it's really obvious." Ms. Stanley huffed, grabbing her purse and keys as she headed out the door. "Good luck!"

I think I would need more than luck to help me. I didn't know what was wrong with Ms. Stanley, she always seemed she was in a hurry. I don't think she really cared that I was wholly from a different country.

I tried to shrug of the thought as I headed out the door and into what I hoped was the real world.


End file.
